by Amber Garza
Danger.
I imagine yellow “caution” tape lining the perimeter.
Hot and cold flashes rip up my spine. Reaching toward the Tupperware container of chicken noodle soup that sits on the passenger seat, I swallow hard. The smell of broth wafts under my nose. Steam rises along the clear lid. I wrap my shaky hands around the container, warmth coating my palms.
As I raise it off the seat, Archer’s words echo through my head.
“I thought you were different.”
I am different, but not for the reasons he thinks. I’m a freak. A hypochondriac. A girl locked in her own mind, paralyzed by fear.
Taking a deep breath, I set the soup in my lap. Then I bend down, stretching out my arm to reach Archer’s chemistry homework that fell from the seat. After plucking it up with my fingers, I tuck the soup in the crook of my arm and step out of the car.
With clipped strides, I make my way to the front door. Memories assault me with each step. A sheen of sweat coats my skin. My chest is tight, my stomach rolling. I feel like I’m the one who’s sick. By the time I reach the door, I’m close to hurling.
There’s no way I can go inside like this.
Besides, who’s to say that Archer even wants to see me? We’ve barely spoken since our fight at the track meet. Perhaps a visit from me would make thing worse.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I step up to his front door. Then I quickly bend down and deposit the soup and chemistry homework on the porch.
It’s a lame move.
A cowardly move.
But I never said I was brave.
Backing away from the door, I hurry to my car and speed down the street.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Archer
@archerdev1 Feeling human again. #healthisagloriousthing #finallyhungry #eatallthefood
Ross: You feeling better?
Me: Much.
Ross: Going to school this morning?
Me: Yep.
Ross: Are you sure you had the flu? Maybe you were just heartsick.
Me: Trust me, it was the flu.
Ross: Have you heard from Kassidy?
Me: Nope.
Ross: Maybe if you hadn’t been such a dick.
Me: Thanks for the support, bro.
…
Mac: Is your sorry ass finally out of bed?
Me: I don’t agree with your description of my ass, but yes, I’m out of bed.
Mac: Maybe your sorry ass is the reason Kassidy didn’t visit you.
Me: Low blow, man.
…
Archer Devlin
Joining the land of the living today.
Ella Marsh So glad you’re feeling better.
Tiffany Engle Good. I’ve been so worried.
Brody “Mac” MacMillan Girls, I think I might be coming down with something.
Tiffany Engle Very funny.
John Cruise You have to have a famous brother to rank with these girls, Mac. You know that.
Brody “Mac” MacMillan: Cold.
Tiffany Engle That’s not fair, John.
John Cruise It’s true.
…
Mac: I guess it wasn’t Kassidy who left the soup and chem homework.
Mac: Doesn’t Tiffany have chem with you? Maybe she left it.
Me: Trying to earn points with my brother
Mac: At least she did something.
Me: True.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kassidy
#18—Face the past
“Archer’s back,” Miranda says after plunking down into her seat. Her face is flushed, her hair disheveled. Using her palms, she smooths it down. “Just passed him in the hall.”
“Oh?” My pulse jump-starts, but I try to act like I don’t care. “How’d he look?”
“Good.”
Relief sweeps over me. I exhale. Thank God he’s better.
She pins me with a curious stare. “You haven’t seen him?”
I shake my head, and she narrows her eyes.
“That’s why Ella’s making her move, then.”
Heat weaves through my veins. “What?”
As if in answer to my question, Ella skips into the classroom. Her cheeks are pinks, her eyes sparkling. When they land on me, she flashes a smile that speaks of victory.
My heart sinks. Averting my gaze, I stare down at my desk.
“Okay, class. Today is the day you’ve all been waiting for,” Mr. Williams announces as he breezes into the room. “We’re starting our essays. We’ll be working on these for a few weeks, so you have a lot of time. Right now I just want us to start with a topic sentence and some brainstorming. So, get out your notebooks.” Turning around, he writes on the whiteboard. “Remember, the essay will be about a defining moment in your life and what you learned from it.”
My breath comes out in fast, shallow bursts. Reaching down, I hold tightly to my chair to keep myself from falling over.
“I’ll give you some time to work on your own, and then I’m going to come around and see how you’re doing.” Mr. Williams drops the marker into the tray below the whiteboard, then he sits at his desk.
I take a deep breath and stare at the blank page in front of me. There’s no denying what my defining moment was. But there’s no way I can write about it. Not all of it. Not everything. And especially not what I learned from it. How can I share that with Mr. Williams? Or anyone, for that matter? I couldn’t even bring myself to tell my last therapist. And even worse, I couldn’t tell Archer.
Archer, who I’ve trusted more than anyone. Archer, who was sick for days and I couldn’t even work up the nerve to go see him.
I’ve been such an idiot.
“My defining moment is about to happen. This weekend hopefully,” Ella whispers loudly to her friend.
“What do you mean?” her friend asks.
“Archer and I are going out,” she speaks in full volume now.
The room tilts around me.
If I could go back in time, I’d do things differently. I’d tell Archer everything from the beginning. I’d be brave and face my past instead of running from it. But now it’s too late. He’s already moved on.
It’s exactly like last time. I messed it all up then, too.
“Kassidy?” Miranda taps my arm lightly. “Are you okay?”
Sniffing, I nod. But I’m not. Other students are starting to glance over, too, including Ella. Oh, crap. I’m losing it in the middle of class. I think this qualifies as sinking to a new low. The tears that I was trying hard to keep at bay slip down my cheeks. My lips quiver, and I bite down on them harshly.
Running my hand over my face, I groan. “I gotta get outta here,” I mutter under my breath.
“Want me to help you?” Miranda asks. “I can stage a diversion. I’ll say I’m having a girl problem or something. Guy teachers never question that one.”
Normally I like Miranda’s quirkiness, but today I can’t handle it. “I’m fine, Miranda. I can do this myself.” Gathering up my things, I stand on trembling legs and make my way to the front of the class. “Mr. Williams, I’m not feeling well.” My voice shakes. “Can I go to the nurse?”
He studies my face. He knows I’m not sick, but who’s going to stop a crying teenage girl from leaving? Miranda’s right. Girl problems scare men.
“Yes, that’s fine. You can go.”
I don’t wait for a note. I’m not going to the nurse. Without looking back, I tear out of the classroom. With blurred vision and tears raking down my cheek, I run down the hallway. When I round the corner, Archer steps out of the bathroom, blocking my path. I stop abruptly. His gaze rests on me and his eyes widen.
“Kassidy?” A look of concern passes over his face. “You okay?”
Nodding, I swipe at my face with my hands and then step around him.
“Kassidy, wait.”
Desperation swells in my chest, and I walk faster. I can’t face him. Not now.
I’ve almost reached the parking lot when warm fingers close around my
wrist, holding me in place. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I speak through gritted teeth, yanking my arm out of his grasp.
“You never came to see me when I was sick.”
I stiffen at his words, his sad tone piercing my heart. Biting my lip, I slowly pivot.
“I’m sorry.” I choke out the words as they pass the lump in my throat. “I just couldn’t.”
“I know.” He steps forward. “I get it. I’ve been an ass.”
“No.” I move away from him. He doesn’t get it at all.
“Kassidy, I’ve been really unfair to you.” Regret fills his eyes. “You were right when you said that I was jealous of my brother. I always have been. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I was just being stupid, and I’m sorry.”
It’s what I’ve been dying to hear, but it’s the wrong time. “I can’t do this right now. I have to get outta here.”
“But you’re clearly upset.”
“Not about this.” Shaking my head, I whirl around and hurry toward my car.
I can hear Archer yelling my name long after I lock myself securely inside.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Archer
@ellamarsh What was with the major meltdown in English today? #somegirlscanthandleit #thestruggleisreal #girlproblems
Me: What happened with Kassidy in English today?
Miranda: Not sure. Ella was blabbing about the two of you going out this weekend.
Me: What?
Miranda: But I don’t know if that’s what upset her.
Me: What else happened, then?
Miranda: We were working on our essays. She always gets weird when we work on them.
Me: What’s the essay about?
Miranda: Our defining moment.
Me: Did she say what she’s writing about?
Miranda: No, but whatever it is, I know it scares her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kassidy
#19—Tell the truth
It’s been two days since my meltdown in English. My parents let me stay home from school to process all of the things I’ve kept buried for so long. I’ve spent hours in my room, poring over old photos, allowing memories to wash over me.
I’ve had a lot of time to think about my past, but also my present. And I’d like that present to include Archer. I only hope it’s not too late.
Standing on his porch, I pull in a breath and reach up with a shaky hand. This time I will do what I couldn’t last time. This time I will be brave.
Hand trembling, I knock. Silence surrounds me. A breeze whisks through the trees, causing leaves to skitter on the ground like insects. I shiver and glance back at the driveway. It’s empty. Perhaps no one is home. I feel relief and disappointment. I’m about to leave, when the door pops open.
Archer stands in front of me, shirt off, gym shorts riding low on his hips. A sheen of sweat blankets his skin. “I’m sorry. I was just getting a workout in.” He appears embarrassed, although I’m not sure why. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I know it’s rude to stare, but I can’t help myself. Dear God, his chest is nice. He wasn’t kidding. Biting my lip, I imagine running my hands over Archer’s abs and up his chest.
“Kassidy?” His voice causes me to flinch, my head snapping up so hard I wonder if I broke my neck. The smile on his face betrays that he caught me staring. Then again, how could he not? I was practically drooling all over myself.
“Yes?” My attempt at sounding calm falls flat. Instead, I sound like a kid who got caught stealing sweets from the kitchen. If sweets looked like Archer’s chest, I’d weigh five hundred pounds and be happy about it.
He runs a hand through his hair, and it sticks up all over his head. “Do you need something?”
Why did I come over here again? Blinking, I force myself out of the ab-induced coma. Then it all hits me. Our fight, our conversation a couple of days ago, me running away from him. Clearing my throat, I avert my gaze from his chest and stare into his eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t visit you when you were sick. I wanted to. I came by and dropped off soup and your chemistry homework.”
“That was you?”
I nod.
“Why didn’t you come in?”
“I was…” I bite down on my lower lip as the quivering starts up again. “I was too scared.”
Leaning against the doorframe, he narrows his eyes. “Kassidy, are you sick?”
“What?” My body heats up, my heart rate picking up speed. “Why? Do I look like it?” I place the back of my hand on my forehead, but it doesn’t feel warm.
“No. I don’t mean are you sick the way I was last week. I mean are you sick as in do you have a disease or something?”
Stepping back, I feel like I’ve been slapped. “A disease? What kind of disease?” Does he mean like a mental illness? Was my panic attack at the theatre that bad? Does he think I’m crazy?
“I don’t know. It’s just the only thing that makes sense. It would explain a lot—the healthy food, the panic attacks. And then there’s all the stuff you keep trying—painting, going to the Playlisters’ concert, starting a new school, running, joining cross-country.” His gaze pierces mine. “You’re checking things off your bucket list, aren’t you?”
Dizziness sweeps over me. “Um…no. I don’t think I’d call it a bucket list…”
“Please, Kassidy. Tell me what’s going on.” He crosses his arms over his chest, which only directs my gaze back to it.
This conversation would be easier if he’d put on a shirt.
“I’m not sick,” I say. “Remember how I told you about my best friend Kate?” He nods. “I told you we weren’t friends anymore, but I didn’t tell you why.” I blink against the moisture in my eyes and swallow down the emotion lodged in my throat. “She died last spring.” It’s not what he was expecting. I can tell by the way his eyes widen and his mouth goes slack. Staring at the ground, I take a few deep breaths. Tears fill my eyes again. I’ve cried more in the past six months than in all my years before.
“It happened suddenly. We weren’t expecting it.” The memories rush me like a linebacker going in for the tackle. “The weekend before we’d gone to a sleepover together. On Monday, everything was normal. Kate was her usual outgoing, charming self. But Tuesday things changed.” This is where I like to stop. Every word after this will obliterate me. It takes a minute before I can continue. “She was acting…off.” My eyes meet Archer’s. He’s barely moved since I started talking. “Like you were last week. I asked her if she felt okay, and she said no. Said she’d felt a little sick in the morning, but now she felt really sick. Headache, stomachache…she thought she was coming down with the flu.”
I recall the way she looked that day, her skin gray, her eyes bloodshot. If I’d known it would be the last time I’d see her, I would’ve stared a minute longer. I would’ve said something else. Anything else. Or maybe I would’ve kept her with me. A sob tears through my throat. Covering my mouth with my hand, I regain my composure, at least as well as I can. “A couple of days later she was gone. What we thought was the flu was bacterial meningitis.”
“I’m sorry,” Archer says so quiet I barely hear him.
“I couldn’t believe she was gone. At first I was in shock. Then I got angry and finally I felt depressed. Not just depressed over losing my best friend. I felt like I lost myself. I didn’t know who I was without Kate. She was my friend for years. Everything I did was with her, or for her, or because she wanted me to. But something else happened. This fear crept up. It got a hold of me and it’s had me ever since.” It’s weird how I’m still talking. Rambling, at this point. It’s like now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “I used to think death only happened to old people after they’d lived a long, full life. And if it did happen to someone our age it was a freak accident. But now I know that it can happen to any of us without warning. And that’s why I was so scared when you got sick. It reminded me of her.”
; “I’m sorry,” he says again.
“It’s not your fault,” I say. “I don’t have an official bucket list. I just sort of have this pact with myself that I’ll do all of the things I want. All of the things I wouldn’t have done when Kate was here.”
“Why wouldn’t you have done them?”
I shrug. “I was sorta Kate’s shadow. I did what she did. And if there was something I wanted to do and she thought it was stupid, I didn’t do it. After she was gone, I realized I had no idea who I was or what I liked.” I swipe at my damp face. “I guess now I’m just trying to figure that out.”
“Hey.” His tone is gentle—so gentle it breaks me a little. Glancing up, I catch his eye. “Thanks for telling me.”
“I like this. I like talking with you again.”
“Me, too.”
I want nothing more than to step forward, to feel his arms around me, maybe his lips on mine. But I know I don’t have the right to do that. For a few minutes, it seemed like things had gone back to the way they were, but I know better. Ella’s words from earlier ring in my head, reminding me of how much Archer and I have screwed this up.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” My gaze flickers one last time to his bare chest, and a pang of longing jabs me.
“You sure you don’t want to come in?”
“I shouldn’t.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Why not?”
I pause, wanting nothing more than to give in to him. It would be so easy.
“C’mon. Please come in. I’ve missed you.” Stepping outside, he swaggers in my direction. I swallow thickly as he reaches out and takes my hand. I let him. When he tugs me forward, I don’t fight it. I allow my body to fall against his. My flesh buzzes along the surface, causing my hairs to stand on end. It takes all my willpower not to reach out and touch his bare skin. “I said I was sorry for how I acted at the track meet and I meant it.”
“I know. That’s not the issue.”
“Is it Ella?” he asks. “Miranda said she was saying stuff about us in English.”
“Yeah, she was,” I say quietly.
“It was lies. I’m not dating her. I would never do that.”
“Then why’d she say it?”
